He watched the beads of sweat trickling down the man's forehead and wondered if he had taken a drink this early. It was a wonder it had not killed him already.
Above his head he heard the regular stamp of boots, the click of metal, as the marines mustered for morning inspection.
He made himself say, 'You must trust my judgement, Mr. Whitmarsh, as I do yours in your own profession.'
The surgeon turned and glared at him. 'You are admitting that if you'd sent him back to Pendang Bay he would have been seized and hanged!'
Herrick retorted angrily, 'Damn your eyes, man, the fellow is a bloody pirate!'
Whitmarsh eyes him fiercely. 'In your opinion, no doubt!'
Bolitho stood up sharply and walked to the windows.
'You must live in reality, Mr. Whitmarsh. As a common pirate he would be tried and hanged, as well you know. But if he is the son of Muljadi he is something more than a cat's-paw, he could be used to bargain. There is more at stake here, more lives in peril than I feared. I'll not falter because of your personal feelings.'
Whitmarsh seized the edge of the table, his body hanging over it like a figurehead.
'If you'd suffered as I have-'
Bolitho turned on him, his voice harsh. 'I know about your brother, and I am deeply sorry for him! But how many felons and murderers have you seen hanging, rotting in chains, without even a thought?' He heard someone pause beside the open skylight and lowered his voice. 'Humanity, I admire. Hypocrisy, I totally reject!' He saw the fury giving way to pain on the surgeon's flushed features. 'So take care of the prisoner. If he is to be hanged, then so be it. But if I can use his life to advantage, and in doing so save it, then amen to that!'
Whitmarsh moved vaguely towards the door and then said thickly, 'And that man Potter you brought from the schooner, sir. You have put him to work already!'
Bolitho smiled. 'Really, Mr. Whitmarsh, you do not give up easily. Potter is with the sailmaker as his assistant. He will not be worked to death, and I think that keeping busy will be a quicker cure than brooding over his recent sufferings.'
Whitmarsh stalked from the cabin, muttering under his breath.
Herrick exclaimed, 'What impertinence! In your shoes I'd have laid about him with a belaying-pin!'
'I doubt that.' Bolitho shook the coffee pot, but it was empty. 'But I feel that I'll never win his confidence, let alone his trust.'
Bolitho waited for Noddall to bring his dress coat and best cocked-hat, feeling rather ridiculous as the servant fussed and tugged at cuffs and lapels.
Herrick said bluntly, 'I think it's a bad risk, sir.'
'One I'll have to take, Thomas.' He saw Noddall pull a long strand of hair from one of the buttons. Her hair. He wondered if Herrick had noticed. He continued, 'We have to trust the French captain. All the rest is so much supposition.'
Noddall had taken the old sword from its rack on the bulkhead, but held it across his arm, knowing by now it was more than his life was worth to usurp Allday's ritual.
Bolitho thought of Whitmarsh's anger, and knew that much of it had good foundation. Had the prisoner been sent back in the schooner he would doubtlessly have been taken by Puigserver, if he was still at the settlement, or held in irons until he could be sent to the nearest Spanish authority. Then, if he was lucky, he would certainly be hanged. If not, his fate hardly bore thinking about. Like father, like son.
As it was, the schooner's surviving crewmen, a savagelooking collection of half-castes, Javanese and Indians, would meet a swift fate before much longer.
How many lives had they taken, he wondered? How many ships plundered, crews murdered, or broken into husks like Potter, the Bristol sailmaker? The bargain was probably onesided.
He walked from the cabin, still pondering the rights and wrongs of instant justice.
On deck it was remaining fresh, the day's heat yet to come, and he took a few paces along the weather side while there was still time. In the heavy dress coat he would be dripping unless he held to the sails' curved shadows.
Fowlar touched his forehead and said awkwardly, 'May I thank you, sir?'
Bolitho smiled. 'You have earned it, Mr. Fowlar, have no fear.'
He had made the master's mate an acting-lieutenant to fill the gap left by Davy. Had young Keen been aboard, it would have been his chance. Another would be put in Fowlar's place. And so it went on, as in all ships.
Herrick took Fowlar aside and waited until Bolitho was pacing again.
'A word of warning. Never interrupt the captain when he is taking his walks.' He smiled at Fowlar's uncertainty. 'Unless in real emergency, of course, which does not include your promotion!' He touched his shirt. 'But congratulations, all the same.'
Bolitho had already forgotten them. He had seen the dark smudge of land which just topped the glittering horizon, and was wondering what he might find there. It looked at this distance like one great spread of land, but he knew it consisted of a crowded collection of islets, some even smaller than the one where they had captured Davy's schooner. The Dutch had originally occupied them because of their shape and position. Ships anchored amidst the surrounding islets would have the advantage of using any wind to put to sea, the use of several channels to avoid delay. The fortress had been built to protect the place from marauders, such as the one who now commanded it and challenged all authority and every flag. The Dutch still listed the Benuas as one of their possessions. But it was in name only, and they were no doubt glad to be rid of it and its unhappy history.
He saw the sailmaker speaking with Potter below the forecastle, and wondered if he would ever really recover from his suffering. It could not be easy for him to be drawing so near to Muljadi's stronghold again. But of all the people aboard, he was the only man, apart from the prisoner, who had seen what lay beyond the protective reefs and sandbars where he had endured so much.
He shivered slightly in spite of his heavy coat. Suppose he had misjudged his opponents? He, too, might become another Potter, a pitiful, broken thing which even his friends and his sisters in England might wish to think of as dead.
And Viola Raymond? How long would she take to forget him?
He shook himself out of his mood and said, 'Mr. Soames!
You may beat to quarters and clear for action now!' He saw the ripple of excitement run through the men on the gun deck.
'Exercise the larboard battery first.'
Allday walked up the slanting deck and turned the sword over in his hands before buckling it to Bolitho's belt. 'You'll be taking me, of course, Captain.'
He spoke calmly, but Bolitho saw the anxiety in his eyes. 'Not this time.'
Calls shrilled along the berth deck, and the marine drummer boys ran breathlessly to the quarterdeck rail, pulling their sticks from their white crossbelts to begin their urgent tattoo.
Allday said stubbornly, 'But you'll be needing me, Captain!'
'Yes.' Bolitho looked at him gravely. 'I will always do that…'
The rest of his words were lost in the rattle of drums, the stampede of feet as the Undine's people ran to quarters once again.
15. Face to Face
Bolitho levelled his telescope across the hammock nettings and studied the overlapping islets in silence. All morning and into the forenoon watch, while Undine had cruised steadily towards them, he had noted each unusual feature, and had compared his findings with what he already knew. The main channel through the islets opened to the south, and almost in the centre of the approach was one stark hump of rock upon which stood the old stone fortress. Even now, with the nearest spurs of land less than two miles distant, it was impossible to see where the fortress began or the craggy hilltop ended.
'We will alter course again, Mr. Herrick.' He lowered the glass and dabbed his eye with his wrist. 'Steer east nor'-east.'
He saw the men by the larboard twelve-pounders peering through their open ports, the guns already shimmering in the sunlight as if they had just been fired.